One time I was walking on the wrong side of town. I knew I didn’t belong, and the bystanders knew that too. They watched me, they didn’t look away when I caught them staring. It actually made them stare more, as if my acknowledgement of their presence was an invite to speak as well. These people heckled and made me feel dirty. I was wearing a summery pink dress with yellow sunflowers; a stark contrast to the baggy dark clothing of my new stalkers.
I held my head high and continued to walk. I pretended to talk on my phone so I didn’t look alone, and to hopefully keep people from coming closer with their disgusting comments.
A sudden gust of wind lifted the bottom of my dress above my head. I dropped my phone as I scrambled to cover myself. It was hopeless. After a good five seconds of showing EVERYTHING to EVERYONE, I flattened my dress down against my legs.
Before I could look and see who was watching, I heard them. There was laughter coming from every angle. It was deafening almost. There were small deep grunts, there were high pitched cackles, it was like a philharmonic range of comedic appreciation.
One voice bellowed above the rest. I heard “Hey! I’m wearing the same undies as you, girl!”
I scanned around for the voice and spotted a homeless geriatric person across the road, lifting up their top to show some high-waist, loose cotton underwear – granny undies if you will, almost identical to mine.
If the laughter was deafening before, my ears were bleeding at the noise now.
I picked up my phone, nodded at my undie- twin across the road and fake laughed my way back to the car and proceeded to die.